EVERY SPRING I FALL IN LOVE with the same woman, and it happens the same way every time. After work at the typewriter, I take a walk in the sun, and there she is, as striking as ever, and there I am, struck dumb as Dante seeing Beatrice.

So Thackeray's hero fell in love at the Louvre with a woman standing there, silent and majestic, her hair light and her eyes gray, looking thirty-two but born 2000 years ago. Her name was Venus de Milo.

For me it is Paris.

16.15, Place de la Sorbonne, 30 Juin (WhitSunday), Paris

Just had a favorite lunch of pizza margherita and red wine. Spoke for a long while with a Fort Lauderdale resturanteur (John Day). Interesting bright fellow. Two and a half hour lunch. He asked why the engineers who wrote the software couldn't document it. I drew him an analogy from my own experience (sort of). I suggested that one could not expect the engineer designing a Formula 1 car engine to tell Alain Prost how to drive the car. I think (modestly) that I got the point across. It's WhitSunday today. I'm going to try going to Notre Dame this evening (between seven and eight or so). I've heard that they have music (chorales) Sunday evenings. We'll see.

11.00, Place Maubert, 31 Juin (Monday)

Walked up and down Rue Moueffetard last night and ate the worst meal I've had on the trip. The Parisian conception of Caesar salad makes me a bit ill: mais, thon, oeuf, tomate (which, of course, I looked askance at). I don't think they knew any better. Then I had something like a whole-wheat crepe in which they stuffed cooked spinach and creme fraiche and an oeuf (raw).

Horrible. I had ordered a crepe with chevre (goat's cheese). But when it came it was too salty for me to eat. Then as well, I had ordered a Cote du Provence wine - and they brought a rose. Gag. They they wouldn't take VISA, in spite of saying they would on the door... "Seulement Carte Bleue, monsieur." So I was forced to use my last 100 Franc note to pay for the meal, leaving me near penniless until this morning when I went to a Bureau du Change on the Ile de la Cite. The pretty girl behind the counter charged me no commission for changing $200 ($100 in argent, $100 in cheque de voyage) into French francs. Very sweet of her.

I think the Parisians are misunderstood. Anyway, on to my disturbing experience last night. Walking back to the hotel, nearly at the Place de la Sorbonne when I hear running footsteps. I turn around and see two youths running up the gradual hill behind me. They slow and as we pass Place de la Sorbonne they turn and one asks me something unintelligible. I keep walking - now next to the asker and respond "Je ne comprend pas." He holds out his little cigarette and wiggles it. I understand and say "Je ne fume pas" and cross the street, nearly at my hotel.

I suspected they wanted trouble - don't know why they didn't pick on me. As I stopped at the door to my hotel, they stopped another passerby and asked him the same question. I guess he didn't respond because they chased him down the street and somewhat ineffectually attacked him. A third thug (with a cricket or baseball bat in his pack) trailed them. I didn't know what to do and asked the hotel clerk to call the police. By the time w e got to the door they were walking back up the street as if nothing had happened.

I'm glad nothing happened to me and I feel ashamed at my cowardice at not helping the stranger more directly. I have just shy of one week left here in Paris. I would still like to see some blues, maybe some chansons, probably go to the Crazy Horse. I should call Renault today. Today is, of course, a religious holiday and many place seem closed.